


Green

by moonstruckhargrove



Series: The Billy Hargrove Chronicles [3]
Category: Stranger Things - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Billy's a dick, F/M, Jealousy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-07 15:30:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16856593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonstruckhargrove/pseuds/moonstruckhargrove
Summary: Billy Hargrove’s jealousy is ugly, and one night he takes it just a little too far.





	Green

Dating Billy Hargrove was many things. Interesting was the word you settled on most often because nothing about your relationship was normal or boring.

Not in the least.

_How did he get her?_

_What the hell does she see in him?_

The questions bouncing around the hallways seemed to lull as your relationship grew, but occasionally you’d see the looks. Sometimes, in the privacy of your room, you wondered the same thing. Billy was the king of Hawkins High, after dethroning Steve Harrington (but most of you believed he welcomed the change in status), and while you weren’t a social outcast, you also weren’t high on the hierarchy. You were just there, and for some reason beyond you, Billy was interested.

You weren’t sure what exactly he saw in you, but once your relationship hit the five-month mark, he had started and gotten into far fewer fights, his attitude wasn’t _quite_  as cocky as when you’d first met him, and he was showing up to your window with far fewer bruises courtesy of his father. You found out about his home life after he showed up at school with a busted lip and a bruised cheek. Regardless of the marks on his knuckles (a trick he thought would fool you into thinking he was fighting again), you saw right through it; he’d been better at keeping his anger in check and opting to walk away rather than throw down.

You’d cornered him after school, letting him lower his guard into believing he was off the hook, and, after prying and a lot of growling on his part ( _Are we sure Billy’s not part werewolf?_ ) he spilled his guts to you. It was a tense few moments as the new information hit you; his behavior made sense: the acting out, the rage, the need for validation from his peers that he should’ve been getting at home. The surprise was evident on his face as you plowed into him, wrapping your arms around him and holding him hostage there as you tried to convey without words that you would be there for him.

Since then, your relationship was only looking up.

Until Tina’s Halloween bash.

 _Come and get sheet-faced_ , the flyer read as it was shoved into your chest in the hallway. You sighed; parties weren’t really your thing, but they were Billy’s, and you admittedly felt more comfortable by his side at one. He slowed up on the drinks when you were there, which you were thankful for. Tina’s party was no exception.

You dressed up as a modest Sandra Dee, and Billy went as…himself, complete with a half-unbuttoned dress shirt. Girls from school eyed him; you’d long learned to ignore it. You figured it came with the territory.

He brushed by you and headed into the kitchen, his fingers running down your arm as he shot you a smirk over his shoulder. He was back in a few moments with half a cup of whatever concoction had been mixed for the night. The two of you stuck to a private corner of the otherwise-filled living room full of dancing and drunken teenagers. 

In the middle of your conversation, Billy was suddenly tugged away to the chant of _Keg King! Keg King!_ , which made you smile cheekily and waggle your fingers at him as Tommy H. manhandled him out into the backyard. You weren’t a partier, but you wouldn’t infringe on Billy’s obvious enjoyment of it. Besides you, partying was an outlet for him, a way to let go of everything that plagued him at home.

A familiar head of brunette hair making a beeline across the living room pulled your attention away, and your eyebrows furrowed as Steve Harrington elbowed his way to the front door. His face was pinched in anger, and he was particularly aggressive in shoving some drunk football player out of his way.

“Steve!” you called, pushing off the wall. He didn’t hear you as he stepped out into the night, and only when you grabbed his arm did he whirl on you.

Surprise registered on his face for a moment before it settled into a scowl. “Oh, it’s you.”

Steve and you _had_  been friends once, but since your relationship with Billy, it had since become very strained. Billy and Steve were fire and oil respectively; combine the two and you’d better duck in cover. You missed seeing Steve, still considered him a friend even if he might not.

“What’s wrong? You looked pretty pissed in there,” you noted, gesturing back towards the house.

“What’s it to you?” You reared back at the harshness in Steve’s tone, and regret immediately shadowed his features. He sighed. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I didn’t…I didn’t really mean that. Nancy, she…she…”

“What happened?” you asked softly, taking Steve’s arm and leading him to sit down on the curb. He ran a hand through his unruly mane, ruffling it even more.

“She called our relationship bullshit,” he muttered, dropping his head. You frowned and sighed.

Steve and Nancy were the power couple of the school; well, besides Tommy and Carol, and perhaps you and Billy. But they were the two who should’ve made it out of high school. Nancy was enamored with Steve, especially when they first started dating, so it was a shock to the system to hear she didn’t love him.

“I’m sorry, Steve,” you responded, dropping your chin onto his shoulder. “I know how much you love her.”

“I miss you, you know,” Steve suddenly said, deflecting away from the disaster that was now his relationship. You smiled softly. Perhaps you weren’t so one-sided in wanting your friendship back.

“I miss you, too. We should hang out–”

You were suddenly yanked roughly to your feet by your arm, shocked as all get out to see Billy glaring daggers at Steve.

“Your girl finally dumped your ass so you’re after mine? Fuck off, Harrington,” he snarled, his voice taking on a note of possessiveness you’d never heard before.

“Jesus fuck, Billy,” Steve sighed, running a hand over his face. “That’s not what this is. And let her go, you’re hurting her.”

Billy’s grip was suddenly gone, leaving a soreness in its wake as an apology flashed briefly in his eyes when he looked down at you. But it was gone in seconds and replaced with the wall you were all too familiar with.

Ignoring Steve as he protested, Billy hooked an arm around your neck and pulled you away from the former Keg King and down to his waiting Camaro. Through the whole ordeal, you were still shell-shocked from the fact that Billy had put his hands on you in a way he hadn’t before. You stayed silent as Billy drove, the music off and a heavy silence settling between you.

“Really, _Harrington_  of all people?” he growled, rubbing his chin in aggravation.

“We’re friends, Billy.”

“Since when?! The douche hasn’t talked to you in months!”

“Because of you!” you suddenly shouted, taking both him and yourself by surprise. You sagged in your seat, heaving out a tired sigh. “You don’t get along; of course Steve is going to stay away. He knows it’s not fair to ask me to play referee between the two of you.”

“Looks like he’s just biding his time,” he hissed through gritted teeth, still floored by your exclamation. He never wanted to keep you from having friends, but, as he’d said, _Harrington_? He could play pool with that beanpole. Shave that stupid hair clean off and use him as a cue stick.

“It isn’t like that.” Your tone was indifferent.

“Can I come up?” Billy asked as he pulled into your driveway, but you were already slamming the door and walking up your walkway without a look back. Billy punched the steering wheel before backing out and roaring down the street.

Billy gave you a whole new thought process that night. You sat cross-legged on your bed in your pajamas, staring blankly at the wall as you tried not to read too much into the marks that had already begun to form on your arms. Billy would never hurt you; he _had never_  hurt you. But with the events of the night replaying in your head, you knew he had gone too far.

The next morning at school, Billy waited by your locker, but you didn’t show. When he drove to your house this morning hoping you’d let him drive you, your mom told him you’d left early to work on a project. He wasn’t dumb; you were avoiding him, and it made a sick, sour feeling settle in his stomach. He didn’t see you at lunch either, and he went the whole day without so much as glimpsing more than a flurry of your hair as you walked down the hallway until the very last bell rang.

You couldn’t avoid him in the parking lot, and there he was, leaning against his Camaro, searching for you. When his eyes locked on yours, you inwardly sighed.

It hadn’t been easy to avoid him; you knew he was looking for you everywhere, and each time you caught a glimpse of his head spinning this way and that searching for _you_  sat uneasily with you. It hurt you, probably as much as it hurt him, but you needed the space to formulate what you would say to him once you let yourself be seen.

He met you halfway in the parking lot and wordlessly, you followed him to his car. It was a silent agreement between you that you head to the open fields at the end of Hawkins. It was quiet and there was no one around; often Billy brought you there after a particularly rough night with his dad. He didn’t talk much during this time. Instead, he sought solace in the curves of your body, and you let him.

This time, silence encapsulated the car as Billy threw it in park. Cigarette smoke filled your nose as he lit up, cranking the window down to hang his arm out the window.

“I’m sorry.” The way his voice strained told you he meant it, and you nearly forgave him then and there, but you didn’t want to be one of those girls who lets her man off the hook to repeat his error over and over again. It killed you to do what you did next, but it needed to be done. He needed to know.

You tugged your jacket off, made awkward by the small space in the car, and lifted your sleeve. The look that settled on Billy’s face was almost enough to make you regret it and drop your sleeve. You’d become an expert on reading him, and the sudden self-deprecating expression broke your heart. But you kept your face a mask, letting him absorb the ring of bruises around your upper arm in the shape of his fingerprints.

“This can’t happen again, Billy,” you finally said, feeling that the message had thoroughly soaked through. “I’ve tolerated a lot from you, and you’ve come so far from that angry boy I met six months ago. But you still have a long way to go and last night, last night really made me wonder about the future of this relationship. You…you scared me last night, Billy, for the first time. And I want that to sink in with you. I can handle more than you think, Billy, but what happened last night _cannot happen again_. I swear I won’t be around long enough for you to even blink if you lay your hands on me like that again. I can forgive it this once because I know you’re trying. I can see it, everyone else can see it. But if you grab me like that again, I’m gone.”

Billy was trembling in the seat beside you with barely restrained self-hatred. He glanced over as you lowered your sleeve and your eyes turned soft.

“I didn’t show you so you’d hate yourself,” you murmured, reaching over to grasp his hand. His fingers curled tightly over yours and he brought your hand to his mouth, peppering kisses across your knuckles in an unspoken apology. “I showed you so you could turn that hatred into change, Billy. I know you can, and I will be right there with you. I love you.”

The kiss he pressed to your mouth was bruising, but he poured every emotion he couldn’t say into it–gratitude, regret, _love_. It was all there. He pulled you across the console into his lap, winding his fingers through your hair as he pulled you even closer.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he breathed against your mouth. “I won’t fuck up like that again. I’m sorry.”

He continued to whisper apologies into your skin that night as he claimed your body as his, determined to make you believe that he could change, that he _had_  changed, for the better.


End file.
